Advice for the Falling
by Phantom Rose 0617
Summary: Hermione gets advice from an unlikely source. How does it apply to Harry? And what does she request of him? A light, fluffy, A/U sixth year story. One-Shot. OOC. COMPLETE


**Advice for the Falling**

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: I'm working on posting all my fanfics from different genres on this site, so they are all archived in one place. Most of my _Harry Potter_ fanfics were written between 2003-2005 when there were only 5 books and 4 movies. A lot of them were posted on Portkey, and my _HP_ pen name at that time was _pottergirl786_. Some of my stories are still archived there. I've made some minor edits here (mostly grammatical changes), but the content of the story is the same.

* * *

The Easter holidays for the sixth years at Hogwarts were much more enjoyable than those of the previous year. With their O.W.L.s behind them and a whole year before they would have to worry about their N.E.W.T.s, they were taking full advantage of the free time and the fantastic sunny spring weather by lazing around the grounds near the lake or on the sprawling green lawns, visiting Hogsmeade at every available opportunity, and relaxing to their utmost content. They laughed at the poor classes above and below them who were stuck in the stifling library or studying furiously in their closed-up common rooms.

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger were among them, though it had taken some persuasion by the boys to get Hermione out in the fresh air.

"I am a prefect," she had wailed. "What if someone needs my help?"

Ron, who was also a prefect, was not too worried about this fact.

"We can help them later," he had replied. "How often do we have perfect weather and no homework on the same day?"

"He's right, you know," Harry had added, and Hermione had relented (though she'd muttered, "As if anyone would ask for your help, Ron," after which Harry had promptly had to separate the two).

Hogsmeade was hopping with students that day. The trio spent over an hour in the Three Broomsticks sipping butterbeers, Ron and Harry sharing Quidditch stories with fellow dorm-mates Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, while Hermione had a long conversation with Madam Rosmerta, the curvaceous, pretty-faced barmaid.

"What was that all about?" asked Ron, after they exited the pub and neared Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

"What?" asked Hermione, distracted by the long handsome quills and many-colored ink bottles in the shop's window display.

"You and Madam Rosmerta looked quite cozy," said Ron. "What in the world could the two of you possibly have had to talk about for that long?"

Hermione paused.

"Just a little advice from woman to woman," she said after a moment.

Ron smirked at Harry.

"And who do you think was giving the advice?" he whispered.

Hermione scowled at him.

"If you must know, _she_ was giving _me_ advice," she said.

"About what?" wondered Harry, holding the shop door open for her.

"Never you mind."

And that was promptly the end of that subject.

After shopping at Zonko's and a quick stop at Honeydukes (if one could call Ron drooling over the counters for half an hour quick), they headed back to Hogwarts where Harry and Ron hit the Quidditch pitch for a little one-on-one game. Hermione sat in the stands and watched.

It was well past mid-afternoon when Harry and Ron stopped for a breather. Ron was immediately distracted by another group of impromptu players, mostly third and fourth years, and joined them for a chat, while Harry went over to the bleachers and sat down next to Hermione.

"How come you didn't join us?" he asked jokingly.

Hermione wasn't the most avid Quidditch fan, though she had never missed one of his games, but to Harry's surprise, she did not laugh with him. Her lips pursed and tightened together.

"What's up?" asked Harry.

She shrugged.

"Come on," he said. "You can tell me."

"I know." She was frowning deeply. "Harry, you know I'm not the best flyer..."

Harry snorted loudly. Hermione glared at him.

"Sorry," he mumbled, averting his eyes from hers.

He hadn't meant to laugh, but if there was one thing in the world at which Hermione did not excel, it was certainly flying.

"Well," she continued in a hushed voice, "that's what I was talking about with Madam Rosmerta."

This surprised Harry. For some reason, he'd had the distinct impression that they'd been talking about—well—men.

"She was giving you advice on flying?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Uh... no. Not exactly."

To his astonishment, Hermione was blushing.

"She... um... err... suggested..."

"What? Just spit it out, Hermione!"

"She suggested I take lessons. Flying lessons, that is."

"Oh, is that all?" Harry shrugged.

"Yes, that's all. But don't you see my dilemma?" asked Hermione.

The first years were the only students in the school who took flying lessons on a regular basis. It would be downright humiliating for Hermione to join their classes.

"So, you need a teacher? Why don't you ask Madam Hooch? I'm sure she'd be happy to help," he suggested.

"If Madam Hooch couldn't help me in our first year, she won't be able to now," said Hermione, folding her arms across her chest as if daring Harry to make such an intolerable suggestion.

"Well," said Harry, suddenly having a vague idea where this conversation was going, "what did Madam Rosmerta advise?"

"She said I should ask someone I really trust," said Hermione, turning to look at him squarely.

For a moment, Harry glanced thoughtfully over at Ron who was laughing amidst a throng of Gryffindors and a few Ravenclaws—including one Luna Lovegood who (aside from the fact was a fifth year and was not inside studying) was oddly enough wearing a Gryffindor sweater. She was watching Ron with a rather vacant expression on her face, while the others were roaring profusely at something he had said. Harry turned back to Hermione and stood up.

"Well, I guess it's settled then," Harry told her. "You roped me into the DA. I guess a few extra flying lessons won't kill me."

Hermione rose from her seat looking delighted. "You really don't mind, Harry?"

If he did, Harry would never have told her so, not with Hermione grinning as though she'd just found out she had aced an extremely important exam (which was saying something, since every exam was extremely important to Hermione). Harry found himself smiling back at her.

As they walked across the Quidditch pitch to join a beckoning Ron, Hermione whispered, "For a moment, I wondered if you thought I was talking about Ron."

Harry eyed her with a half-grin, half-smirk.

"The key is teaching you to fly _well_ ," he joked. "But don't tell Ron I said that."

* * *

Later that evening, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in their favorite squashy armchairs by the fire in the Gryffindor common room.

"How come you didn't ask me to help you, Hermione?" inquired Ron, shooing Crookshanks away from his legs as he spoke. The cat glared at him and jumped into Harry's lap instead, where he promptly curled into a ball and shut his eyes, looking quite contented.

Hermione pulled _Which Broomstick_ a little higher in front of her face. Her eyes darted toward Harry over the top of the book, then flitted back to Ron.

"I offered to help," Harry interjected, trying to keep his expression carefully neutral.

Ron, however, appeared to have sensed something was amiss. He looked from one to the other, his eyes narrowing.

"I have improved, you know," he said, folding his arms and looking sulky.

It was true. Ron was a much better Quidditch player and flyer since the previous year. Harry, as the new Captain, had trained with him harder than ever. His skills on a broomstick were not yet up to par with Gryffindor's former Keeper, Oliver Wood, but Ron had made progress with a little hard work and some new-found confidence. His spectacular performance at the end of the previous year had helped tremendously in boosting his ego.

"Ron, please don't be offended," said Hermione, setting her book aside. "Honestly—you wouldn't go to Harry for help on your Potions homework—sorry, Harry—just like you wouldn't come to me for help in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Though you are the best among the DA members," said Harry.

Hermione smiled at him, but replied, "But not better than our teacher. And furthermore, Ron, I would not go running to Harry if I wanted to become a world-class wizard chess champion."

This put a smile on Ron's face and his shoulders puffed up a bit.

"Well, you do have a point," he said.

Harry gave Hermione a "good job" look, while Ron leaned over and whispered to him, "I'm not sure I envy you the job anyway, mate."

Hermione did not miss his comment. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," replied Ron, "it's bad enough when you're obsessing over something you're good at. Just think how riled up you're gonna be over something you're not."

Hermione glared at him.

Harry, who was very good at sensing one of their fights coming on, said in a calm voice hoping to appease them both, "That's why I think it's a better idea all around that I be the one to teach Hermione. She's used to my methods from DA lessons. And you know you two would just kill each other. What do you say, Hermione? Should we start tomorrow, then?"

Hermione, quite suddenly, looked very red and stood up.

"I think I'll go to bed now," she said abruptly.

"You're not backing out, are you?" Harry asked her.

She shook her head. "I really must get some sleep."

And with that, Hermione headed toward the girls' dormitory without a backward glance.

"See you tomorrow, then," Harry called after her, while Ron just laughed.

"You know, mate," he said to Harry. "Now I _know_ I don't envy you. If you get her to even _hold_ a broomstick, it'll be a miracle."

* * *

"Harry, I'm not sure this is such a good idea."

Hermione hadn't looked this scared since Professor Lupin's end of year exam when her boggart Professor McGonagall had told her she'd failed all her classes.

"Hermione, it was your idea. You'll be fine. Are you a Gryffindor or not?" Harry teased her.

"That's easy for you to say," Hermione snapped back at him. "You were practically born flying."

Well—that wasn't exactly true but flying had come more naturally to Harry than anything else in the magical world. It was something he had not needed to be taught; it was pure instinct for him.

Hermione, on the other hand, couldn't bear anything she could not learn out of a book. And while she'd read _Quidditch Through the Ages_ at least twelve times and memorized every tip on flying she could find, she was still worse than most first years at it. It was odd for her to be inept at anything, but Harry was sure if she could only move past her fear and follow her instincts, she would excel at flying much as she did everything else.

Hermione had borrowed one of the school brooms. She still did not possess one of her own. It was a Cleansweep Seven, which wasn't a bad broom in its own right—though next to Harry's Firebolt it looked like one of those toy broomsticks he'd seen toddlers flying on at the Quidditch World Cup a couple summers ago. He suspected Hermione wanted to fly about as high as they did—two or three feet off the ground! But this particular broom looked like it had been through some rough games and come out the worse for wear because of it.

Harry hesitated only a second before handing Hermione his Firebolt.

"You can't be serious," she looked at him, clearly believing he was joking with her.

"This is by far a superior broom. We both know it." He wasn't trying to brag. He was simply stating a fact.

"It'll be a lot easier teaching you correctly with a good broom," Harry said reasonably.

Hermione gaped at him. "But Harry. This is your Firebolt! You love this broom! If I did something to it—"

"What are you going to do to it?" His voice sounded unconcerned.

"And besides, Sirius gave it to you. It's more than just a broom. It has sentimental value. And I couldn't possibly—I mean—what if I—what if the Whomping Willow gets hold of it like your Nimbus 2000..."

Hermione often talked a lot, and fast at that, but she did not usually ramble on so ridiculously without a thought as to what was coming out of her mouth.

"Hermione!" Harry held up a hand to stop her babbling. "You, of all people, are not being practical. I want you to use my broom. It'll be easier. This lesson will go much smoother and faster, believe me. Besides, I would not give the Whomping Willow the satisfaction of taking two brooms from me."

At his words (especially the part about the lesson going much faster), Hermione finally agreed he was making more sense than she was (gasp!) and consented to using the Firebolt. She handed him the school broom in return.

"Ok," Harry began, "remember that grip I showed you. You've been doing it wrong for ages. This is the proper way."

Hermione watched as he demonstrated on the Cleansweep Seven. She tried to match his hand positions on the Firebolt, but it felt awkward to her. She loosened her grip and varied from his version just slightly. This made Harry shake his head fiercely.

"No, no. That's not right."

"Harry, it doesn't feel right the other way. It's not comfortable," Hermione whined.

"That's because you're still not doing it properly," he said. "Here, let me show you."

Harry came up behind her and placed his hands over hers on the broomstick.

"Like this," he said close to her ear. "See?"

He had moved the location of her hands just slightly, but it was enough to make a difference. Hermione's hands no longer felt clumsy on the broom handle.

"How did you do that?" she gasped, turning her head to look at him. His face was so close to hers, she was drowning in a sea of green eyes.

"Magic," he whispered, his breath teasing her lips lightly as he smiled.

She was not used to being so close to him. He smelled like mint and grass and something Hermione could not place. And what a dazzling smile he had! Unfortunately, it was a rare sight to see. Hermione thought she would need to come up with an excuse to make him smile like that more often.

A warm tingling sensation started in her toes and traveled up the length of her body to settle in her fingertips where Harry's hands rested on hers. She wondered if he could feel it too, just as he started to pull away. The moment his hands left hers and he took a step back, she lost her grip on the broom and her hands felt awkward and clumsy again. Harry noticed it, too.

"I guess I'm going to have to stay with you on this one for a while," he joked, but his voice was oddly hushed.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I just can't seem to—"

But Hermione's train of thought ended there as Harry positioned himself behind her again, this time pressing closer against her back than he had before. His arms reached securely around her and his hands rested gently over her own, returning them to the correct position once more.

Oh Merlin, what had she gotten herself into! Hermione thought.

"Okay. You ready?"

Harry's voice startled her out of her thoughts.

"Ready for what?"

He laughed softly in her ear.

"Did you think we were going to just stand here like this all day?"

She wouldn't mind! Ack, what was she thinking? Hermione was horrified at her own thoughts.

"We have to leave the ground sometime," said Harry. "Now, come on. I know you can do this. I'm right here."

"You're going to fly with me?" Now her voice really sounded terrified.

"It will help. Trust me," he tried to assure her.

"Of course, I trust you. It's just that—"

But Harry had not given Hermione the chance to finish her sentence. He had kicked off from the ground in one graceful swoop, and suddenly they were levitating about ten or twelve feet in the air moving forward at a slow pace. Harry doubted they were even going ten miles an hour, but it would only frighten her if they started out too fast.

"This isn't so bad, is it?" he whispered in her ear.

No, not bad at all, Hermione thought. In fact, it was kind of nice, with Harry's strong arms surrounding her, his warm body behind her. She was almost enjoying it when Harry released one of his hands from her own and placed it around her waist.

"Let's go higher and keep that grip I showed you."

Suddenly, they were twenty, fifty, a hundred feet in the air and moving at a much faster pace.

"Harry, I don't like this," she repeated a few times. "I don't like this at all."

She sounded exactly like when they'd ridden Buckbeak that time, only now she was in front of him, not behind, so she could not grasp him around the waist in a vice-like grip as she had done on that occasion.

"I won't let you fall," he assured her, pulling her closer against him. "Just relax."

They were moving at a rapid pace now, soaring high above the turrets of the castle, safely above the branches of the Whomping Willow, over the Quidditch pitch, and toward the peaks of the mountains in the distance. Harry guided Hermione in a sweeping turn, heading out across the lake.

"It's amazing!" she gasped, watching birds flying beneath them over the sparkling blue-green of the water below. She turned her head once and looked over her shoulder to find a calm, blissful smile on Harry's face that reached all the way to his deep green eyes.

They soared ever higher, past the shores of the lake, over the Forbidden Forest and the sweeping front lawns of the castle, before Harry tightened his grip over her hands once more. They dropped very slowly at almost a direct vertical descent. Their feet lightly touched the ground a moment later.

Harry did not release her right away and only moved his body slightly away from hers for the purposes of balance.

"Wow," she sighed.

"You see? You can do it," he told her. His voice sounded breathless.

He can't be winded, Hermione thought. That was nothing compared to what he was used to doing.

"I couldn't have done it without you," she told him, inclining her head to look at him.

Harry blushed at this. He shook his head.

"You were a very good student," he said softly, and suddenly Harry was very aware of his hands at her waist. She was warm against his fingertips and when she tried to move away, he found himself unwilling to let her go.

Curious, Hermione turned to face him, the Firebolt dropping to the ground with a soft thud.

Harry's hands remained at her waist, and he was startled by the thought that he wanted to keep them there.

Hermione's brown eyes were questioning him even as her lips were parting to speak, but no sound emerged from them.

Harry wanted to say something. "Hermione, I—"

"Hey—you two!"

They broke apart immediately. Ron was striding across the lawn toward them. Harry bent to retrieve his Firebolt from the grass while Hermione turned away, her hands clutching at her flushed cheeks.

"How did it go? I see you're still in one piece," said Ron as he reached their sides.

"Yes, I am. It went fine," Hermione murmured.

"I meant Harry," said Ron lightly, grinning at the two. He was completely unaware that he had interrupted anything unusual.

"I see Hermione hasn't inflicted any bodily harm on you, mate," he said to Harry, "so it must have gone well."

"She did do well," Harry muttered, his eyes briefly locking with hers.

She gave him a weak smile.

"Good to hear," said Ron, and he patted Hermione on the back. "It's about time for lunch. I'm starving."

And with this pronouncement, clearly expecting them to accompany him, Ron headed back toward the castle.

Harry and Hermione stared at one another for a long moment before following in their friend's footsteps.

* * *

"I don't understand what happened," Harry said to Hagrid in the gamekeeper's hut the next afternoon.

He was due to give Hermione another flying lesson in half an hour, and he was feeling rather nervous about it.

"I mean, this is _Hermione_ we're talking about."

Hermione... Great Merlin! Harry thought. This can't be happening! It would not do for him to continue having any—gulp! —feelings for her that did not cohere with "best friend" and "great schoolmate."

Hagrid was shaking his massive, shaggy head with every incoherent sentence that Harry blurted out to him.

"It doesn't make any sense," Harry repeated, plopping down in the oversized armchair. Fang immediately came over and placed his head in Harry's lap.

"Yeh're young," said Hagrid. "Young folks 'ave them sorts o' feelings."

"It's not like that," said Harry quickly, afraid that his big friend was mistaking what he was saying for raging teenage hormones.

"It's not, eh?" Hagrid grinned at him.

"W-well," stuttered Harry, though he couldn't help but smile back, "it's a little of that—yeah… I guess."

Harry was sure his cheeks were burning bright red now. Resiliently, he plowed on, "It's more than that, though. It's like…"

He searched for the right word but was not happy with where his thoughts led him.

Hagrid caught his frown and guessed what he was thinking. "Love?"

Harry shook his head to deny it, but then realized he couldn't do it. Not truthfully.

"Of course, I love Hermione," said Harry quickly, looking around as though someone besides Hagrid and Fang might hear him. "But is it _real_ love? I mean, is it _that_ kind of love? Am I old enough to even know what that is?"

Harry silently answered his own question.

 _Yes._

His mother had sacrificed her life for his out of love, and Harry knew he would not hesitate to do the same for Hermione, if it came down to it.

But did that mean he was _in love_ with her? Were they necessarily the same thing?

"This happened so fast," Harry muttered. "It was completely unexpected."

"Was it, now?" asked Hagrid, glancing sideways at Harry with his beetle-black eyes before continuing. "Sometimes it happens that way. It jest hits yeh like a—"

"Bludger," Harry interjected.

Hagrid laughed. "Yeah. Somethin' like that. Listen Harry, it was like that fer me an' Olympe, too. Fine woman, Olympe…"

Harry cleared his throat, desperate to keep away from the subject of Hagrid and Madame Maxime, whatever their status.

It took a moment before Hagrid's gaze cleared, and he continued, "But it's not the same fer everyone, Harry. It's somethin' yeh have ter figure out fer yerself."

Harry stared down at the floor, lost in thought. It was a long while before either of them said anything.

Finally, Hagrid spoke up, his voice sympathetic, "I reckon'd fer a long while now that Ron might be feelin' somethin' close ter what yeh're feelin', Harry. But I knows fer a fact that Hermione don' feel that way 'bout Ron."

Harry looked up at him in surprise. "How do you know that?"

He, too, had long suspected Ron had a crush on Hermione, though Ron had never said as much. His jealousy over Viktor Krum had made it obvious, but in all the times he and Ron had talked about girls, Ron had never once included Hermione in his musings. Neither had Harry, for that matter. And come to think of it, every time anyone else had mentioned her name—Seamus that one time, and even Neville—Harry and Ron had shot him down before those thoughts went too far. Had they simply been acting like over-protective brothers? Or had it been something more? On both their parts?

Harry wasn't sure he wanted to answer that question, but he did want to know how Hagrid knew what Hermione thought about Ron.

"She tol' me so," said Hagrid simply.

And suddenly, Harry wondered about something he probably shouldn't have, but that didn't stop him from asking Hagrid about it anyway.

"Has Hermione ever said anything about... me?"

"Well..." Hagrid paused. "Not direc'ly, Harry, no. But I don' reckon she'd say no ter yeh if yeh ask'd her out."

Harry ask Hermione out?

As new and foreign as this notion was to Harry, it gave him warm feelings in more places than one.

"Thanks, Hagrid."

The gamekeeper just smiled as Harry left the cabin, a light spring in his step as he headed toward the Quidditch pitch to meet Hermione for their next lesson.

* * *

Hermione was just on her way to meet Harry when two smirking faces cornered her near the double-oak doors of her dormitory.

"Well, aren't you a lucky girl?" said Parvati Patil, stepping directly in front of her, blocking her path.

Hermione went to move around her, but Lavender Brown prevented her escape.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Hermione, staring wide-eyed at her dorm-mates in exasperation.

Lavender and Parvati exchanged disbelieving looks.

"You're kidding, right? Flying lessons with Harry Potter? I mean _really_ , Hermione. You're supposed to be smart," said Parvati, grinning heavily at her.

"I beg your pardon," said Hermione, affronted by the pair of them gawking at her.

"Oh, she sounds pretty smart to me," replied Lavender cheekily. "But how did you ever manage to get him to teach you, Hermione? Do you think he would teach me?"

Parvati coughed half a giggle, while Hermione just rolled her eyes.

"Oh, you know Hermione," said Parvati to her friend, crossing her arms as her lips pursed together in a way that Hermione found extremely annoying. "She has her methods, especially when it comes to Harry."

"Don't be ridiculous!" laughed Hermione. She could not believe she was having this conversation, and with Lavender and Parvati of all people. She liked them well enough, but why did they always have to act so silly about boys?

Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment. But doing so only brought mental images to her mind of being held securely in Harry's arms while they were gliding through open sky. She snapped her eyes open again.

"He's my best friend," Hermione said a bit too swiftly, though she tried to make her voice sound calm, the very opposite of what she was feeling. "If you haven't noticed, I spend all of my time with him."

"We've noticed," chorused the other two girls, and Hermione took a step backward.

"Well, what makes this any different?" she asked, though she already knew there was a difference. A big difference! But she wasn't about to admit anything to two of the biggest gossips in school.

Lavender and Parvati looked at each other incredulously, and then Parvati cleared her throat. "If you want my advice—"

"I don't," Hermione cut her off.

It wouldn't do her any good to be rude to the two girls, but really… She did not want to be having this conversation at all. What was the big deal anyway?

"Look, Harry's just being nice," she continued, but a small voice in Hermione's head asked just who she was trying to convince. "Honestly, the way you two talk, you'd think Harry and I were a couple or something."

The girls grinned again, but Hermione's patience had finally run out. She jostled her way through them, bolting out the double doors before Lavender and Parvati could say another word to her.

Inhaling and exhaling in large breaths as she hurried away, she was beginning to feel better until she reached the Entrance Hall. Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood were standing right in her path. There would be no way to avoid them now, for they had already seen her descending the stairs. Though she considered both to be friends, they were not much better than Lavender and Parvati at being subtle about these sorts of things.

What sorts of things? Hermione's mind questioned her. Certainly not… Well, not… _love…_ Of course not, countered the other side of her brain. It's nothing like that! Nothing at all…

But you do love Harry, her mind continued to argue.

"Of course, I love Harry!"

"What was that, Hermione?" asked Ginny, lightly grabbing at her arm as she tried to step past.

Oh Merlin! Had she said that aloud?

"Nothing," she muttered, trying to sidestep her friend.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" asked Ginny. "Or do I even need to ask?"

The redhead smiled knowingly at Luna, who was staring at Hermione with an odd, dreamy expression on her face.

"Oh, you're off to see Harry, aren't you?" said Luna. "I heard he's teaching you how to fly."

"I think he's teaching her more than that," Ginny joked, nudging the blond-haired girl next to her with a grin.

"Isn't that what I said?" stated Luna vaguely, and Hermione's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"There is nothing going on between Harry and me!"

She had said this loudly—so loudly in fact that Professor McGonagall gasped, "Miss Granger!" in that disapprovingly familiar tone of hers, all the way at the other end of the hall. The next moment Hermione was sprinting away for a second time, though it wasn't fast enough to escape Luna's next words to Ginny.

"Nothing is going on with them? But I thought they'd been dating for ages now."

Ginny watched as Hermione pushed open the front doors with a little too much enthusiasm. She turned to Luna with a half-smile. "You know, if she'd taken my advice a long time ago, they would be."

By this time, Hermione was far out of earshot, too excited about her next lesson with Harry to be bothered any further by what anyone else thought. Not Parvati or Ginny or Voldemort himself could stop the rapid pounding of her hammering heart or the slight hum that was running sweetly through her veins as she made her way across the grounds to the Quidditch pitch.

There was only one thing that mattered to Hermione now, and nothing was going to keep her away from it.

* * *

"You're doing much better than last time."

"Really?" asked Hermione, looking over her shoulder at Harry.

"Really." He was grinning at her.

"Well," she replied, "it might have something to do with the fact that you've been steering us for the past fifteen minutes."

Harry tossed his head sideways in a flippant manner, trying to redirect Hermione's attention to where he was guiding them.

"That's because I want to show you something," he told her, his smile never leaving his face.

Hermione couldn't help but smile back at him. Those lopsided grins of his, charming though they were, would probably be the death of her. She had already lost whatever resolve she had mustered before their lesson not to fall head over heels for her best friend. One more look from him like that and she'd be plummeting to the ground so fast, even Harry's Firebolt would not help him catch her. And she so desperately wanted to be caught!

She was turning into some wishy-washy romantic nitwit, Hermione thought in dismay, turning away from Harry's smile and gorgeous green eyes. Or worse. She was as bad as Lavender and Parvati!

"Something wrong?" Harry whispered in her ear, and she jumped as he shattered her vision of trolloping around with her dorm-mates, giggling about boys and comparing notes on snogging.

"Where are we going?" she asked, trying to turn her mind elsewhere.

"You'll see," said Harry. "It's not far now."

They were soaring across the lake, away from the castle and grounds, heading in a direction they had not taken in any of their other lessons. It was their fifth one this week, and Hermione had resolved herself to the fact that it would probably be their last one for a while. Easter break was almost over, and when Harry had asked her this morning, rather formally, whether she would like to accompany him on a ride, not a lesson, she'd had the distinct impression that his stiffness meant he was getting tired of teaching her; and though they had less to worry them—academically speaking—than last year, they still had the usual end of year exams looming before them. And, guaranteed—Snape's would be a doozy! Hermione had already been sorry several times, though not sorrier than Harry, that she'd decided to take Snape's N.E.W.T. Potions class after all.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Harry suddenly.

"How do you know I'm thinking about anything? Except maybe falling?" she gasped, as Harry plunged a few feet lower so swiftly she almost lost her grip on the broom handle.

Then, to her surprise, they began to slow down dramatically. They were heading for a nearby shore, directly opposite the castle, where there was a white, pebbled beach set close to a hill and a huge mountainside behind it. Harry pulled them to a stop next to a great, gray boulder where small tufts of grass were peeking through the pearly pebbles. The beach was set in an arch, small and concealed, with forests on each side and the great mountain rising behind it.

Harry caught the appreciative look on Hermione's face and motioned for her to sit down.

"It's great, isn't it?"

She smiled at him.

"You've been coming here a long time, haven't you?" she guessed, sitting on the boulder and propping her knees up in front of her.

Harry sat down next to her.

"Since second year," he admitted, his eyes scanning over the green water lapping at the beach to the rising towers of Hogwarts in the distance.

"I wasn't even sure who I was then," he said quietly. There was a weed growing through a crack in the rock near his knee, and Harry pulled at it absently.

"And now?" asked Hermione.

"Now…" Harry began, but his voice trailed off almost immediately. After a moment, he said, "Now, I'm wondering who I'm going to become."

"Well, who do you want to become?" asked Hermione, turning to look at him. "I believe it is your choice."

"You sound like Dumbledore," Harry chuckled, tossing the weed in his hand aside.

"Do I?" Hermione looked flattered by this pronouncement.

"Well, there are worse people to sound like," she joked.

Harry didn't say anything for a moment as he stared across the water at the castle.

"So, what _were_ you thinking about—just a minute ago—up there?" asked Harry suddenly, motioning toward the cloudless sky.

Hermione laughed.

"Ah… Snape, actually," she said, averting her eyes from his.

"Snape! Why?" asked Harry, mortified that she would even admit such a thing.

"I was just thinking about exams," said Hermione.

"Oh… of course," muttered Harry, and to Hermione's astonishment, she thought he sounded disappointed, though she had no idea why.

"I'm glad you brought me here," said Hermione abruptly. She had the strange feeling their conversation had gone off track somehow.

Harry smiled.

"It's lovely. Perfect," she continued. "I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be right now."

Harry turned his head and looked at her. His eyes were such an intense shade of green that she gasped aloud.

"I wanted to share it with someone," he admitted softly. "I wanted to share it with you."

"Thank you," said Hermione, echoing his gentle tone. "Thank you for everything. The lessons… your patience and understanding and…"

She was going to say "friendship," but she lost her voice. They were so close; Hermione could feel Harry's breath on her face. She could see the deep green etchings of his eyes staring widely into her own.

She wanted something she shouldn't want—she knew that—but she hadn't realized that Harry wanted it too, until the moment he tilted his head and raised his hand to tenderly brush a wayward curl from her cheek. Involuntarily, her body leaned forward, and that was the only encouragement Harry needed to place his lips against hers.

He pressed softly, moved slowly against her at first, determined to take his time and savor their first kiss.

Hermione, however, was not cooperating. She leaned harder against him. She placed her hands on his chest and shoulders before running them through his untidy hair.

Harry, in turn, pulled her closer to him, tracing a pattern down her back with his restless fingers and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

Their kiss intensified. Their clothing became rumpled from roaming hands. Their lips were moving on to other spots now. Their breathing had turned shallow and ragged.

Things were moving fast. Too fast!

"Harry, we should stop."

"You're right," he muttered, kissing her neck. "We should stop."

Hermione moved her hands down his arms and pushed him gently away from her. Harry did stop, his glasses askew, his hair more of a mess than usual, before he looked at her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, smiling at him, her cheeks flushed. "I didn't really want to stop."

Harry was blushing too.

"Me, either." He grinned sheepishly.

"How long have you known?" he asked her after they'd straightened their clothing and sat side-by-side again.

He placed one of his hands in hers. Hermione smiled.

"Well, if you're talking about when I recognized I had feelings for you… Probably not until we started our flying lessons," she said. "If you're asking me how long I've been in love with you…"

She paused and looked at him.

Her expression took his breath away, but he managed to squeak out, "You're in love with me?"

"Yes, Harry. Of course," she admitted, leaning over and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Harry was so overjoyed he could barely contain himself. He wanted to jump on his Firebolt and do flying donuts. He wanted to conjure the best Patronus in the world. He wanted to…

He pulled Hermione close to him and kissed her hard on the lips.

 _"Harry!"_

Though she did her best to sound scandalized, her eyes were shining mischievously at him.

"I can't help it!" he shouted. "I've just found out the girl I love, loves me back!"

He hugged her so fiercely, Hermione almost laughed at his exuberance.

"Harry, really…" she muttered. "Wait a minute! Did you just say…"

She looked at him squarely. He smiled at her.

"Of course, I love you. I've always loved you," he said sincerely. "I just didn't realize how much until… now."

And this time when they kissed, Harry and Hermione were sure they had never experienced anything as beautiful or as wonderful or as right in their young lives.

All unknown journeys must have their beginnings. And whatever happened next for them, they knew that they would never again have to face that journey alone.

* * *

Later that evening, Harry and Hermione sat in the Three Broomsticks waiting for Ron to come back with their celebratory butterbeers. To their relief, Ron had been very happy for them. He had not felt the least bit jealous or threatened by the fact that his two best friends were suddenly a bit closer than they had been before. In fact, Ron admitted he had long suspected they had feelings for each other.

Harry was especially glad that this wasn't going to be an issue between them. He'd been so afraid that Ron was still harboring some sort of crush on Hermione and had been ever since Viktor Krum and the Yule Ball their fourth year. He was glad he was wrong. Instead, Ron admitted to liking Luna Lovegood, which was news to Harry, though not to Hermione.

"She's liked Ron for ages," she told him later, and Harry conceded they would certainly make an "err… interesting couple."

"So, what do you think?"

Hermione startled Harry out of his reverie.

They had been discussing their plans for the summer, and Harry was hopeful that this coming one would be better than the last sixteen.

"I do hope the Dursleys will let you come and stay," Hermione was saying to Harry. "I know my Mum and Dad would be pleased to have you. They get tired of me running off to the Burrow all the time. They might like it if I stayed home occasionally. Of course, it would be much more bearable with you there."

Harry waited for Hermione to take a breath before inserting, "I expect it'll be more up to Dumbledore than the Dursleys."

"Surely, he can't make you stay there the whole summer," said Hermione, who suddenly looked affronted by a pair of glittering turquoise heels heading their way.

"Is this him?" asked Madam Rosmerta the moment she reached their table. She didn't even bother with a preliminary "hello." Instead, she eyed Harry with a broad smile.

"Harry Potter, eh? Wow—you work fast, girl! I'm deeply impressed."

Hermione shook her head warningly at her.

"What was that all about?" asked Harry. He rose his eyebrows at Hermione curiously after Madam Rosmerta moved on to the next table.

"Err… nothing," she tried to lie, but Harry saw through it.

"I have a feeling she was talking about more than flying lessons," he said, smirking.

Hermione simply smiled and shrugged at Harry.

Let him think what he wants, she thought, breathing a sigh of relief that Madam Rosmerta had gone when the barmaid suddenly turned and headed back to their table.

"Well, now," she said, grinning bawdily in Harry's direction. She nudged Hermione with her elbow. "I hope my advice worked out for you. I don't just give that kind of advice to everyone, you know. But you're such a smart girl. I hope you put it to good use."

Hermione hid her face behind her hands.

"What exactly are we _putting to good use_?" asked Harry, after Madam Rosmerta had walked away again.

Hermione looked at him and decided it was time to confess.

"She thinks that… well… that we're… um… err… having…"

She could feel her cheeks burning. Oh, just say it, Hermione!

"Sex," she whispered.

"What!"

At the next table, Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan looked over at the sudden outburst. They smiled knowingly at Harry and Hermione, neither of whom smiled back, before returning to their conversation.

Harry was startled. Hermione's face was beet red; she could not look Harry in the eye.

"Let me get this straight," he said, trying to keep his voice low. "You were asking for advice about—"

He couldn't even say the word.

Hermione spared him a small smile—for apparently, he was just as embarrassed as she was, if not more so—but replied in a severe voice, "Of course not! _I_ was talking about flying, but she completely misunderstood me. By the time I figured out what _she_ was talking about, it was too late to explain. So, I just let her think I was asking about sex. Oh, the whole thing was ridiculous, but her advice worked in some context. I just sort of _reapplied_ her theories."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at her.

"Well," he said, trying not to blush too hard, "we could always try out those theories in _her_ context instead."

 _"Harry!"_

Hermione swatted at his arm, but there was a grin behind her shocked look.

"What's he done now?" asked Ron, rejoining them with his arms full of butterbeers and bags of Choc O'Nuts from the bar.

"Nothing," Harry replied, trying his best to look innocent (which wasn't too difficult in his case).

Hermione smiled at Ron.

"Let's just say, it's going to be a very interesting summer."


End file.
